


Chris Griffin at the Detharmonic

by seashadows



Category: Family Guy, Metalocalypse
Genre: Gen, Originally Posted on LiveJournal, Unapologetic Crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris Griffin is Fatty Ding-Dongs. This is his story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chris Griffin at the Detharmonic

Chris Griffin’s father was _stupid_. Then again, he already kind of knew that, but it definitely became pretty apparent that Peter was lacking a few bolts in the crucial areas when he mistook the members of a _band_ for Child Services. “Holy _crap!_ ” he’d shrieked upon seeing an unusually stolid-looking Nathan Explosion at his door. “Are you people the kid snatchers?” He said that a lot, but it was usually just Quagmire and Joe. This time, though, it wasn’t.   
  
That singer dude, Nathan, had blinked a lot, mumbled something about charity and scouting for a kid, and then pushed the blond guitarist forward to give a very confused Lois Griffin a smile that had her fainting onto the hideous purple couch. Meanwhile, Meg just about wet herself with excitement (both ways, that is). “Oh my _god!_ ” she screamed. “You’re that band! Oh my god! Oh my god!”   
  
It wasn’t very often that Meg knew about something musical that Chris didn’t know about, but he’d guessed this was just one of those times.   
  
“Dats am a very ugly trans-vest-tights,” the blond guy had murmured, with the Norwegian guy snickering and nodding in agreement. The dude with the dreads had covertly thrown up behind a bush, and Nathan had settled matters by reaching forward and snatching Chris by the scruff of the neck when he came forward to investigate…which eventually (three scene blackouts and one cutaway gag later, to be exact) ended up with him where he was now: sitting in Dethklok’s conference room, staring confusedly at the wall.   
  
He’d gotten excited when the guy with the brown hair and the weird accent said he knew how to give himself a real cool blowjob – partly because he’d always wanted to be able to do that – but had turned back around, disappointed, when he found out that the guy just meant ‘nosebleed.’ People were confusing sometimes; that was why he liked walls.   
  
_Whoa_. It was all…rocky. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a wall made out of rocks before. Chris leaned forward and took a bite, thinking it might be rock candy instead, but the results were more than a little disappointing.   
  
“…and who the hell is that?” That manager dude couldn’t be talking about anyone else but him, because he probably knew all the other guys.   
  
“Don’t play dumb,” Nathan growled. “You know who that is.” Chris spat out the piece of wall he’d been gnawing on and turned around, feeling shy all of a sudden. These guys smelled kind of funny, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to get his face any closer to them than that.   
  
“I’m Chris,” he said. “Sometimes I pee my bed.” Oops. Was he supposed to mention that?   
  
“Me, too!” The exclamation came from the ugliest dude Chris had ever seen; he was even uglier than Sticky Head that time Brian tried to give him a Christmas present, and that was saying a lot. “Thish guy’sch a pisscher! He’sch in!”   
  
“Oh, _boy!_ ” Chris felt his face light up into a big grin, the kind Stewie always said looked goofy (and then he usually punched Chris’s face to make it go away, which hurt a _lot_ ). “Can I stay here and pee the bed with you, big ugly dude?”   
  
“So, he is…?” the manager cut in, looking a little impatient. Chris could _totally_ tell he was the manager, because he wore his hair slicked back like Mr. Quagmire did, and Mr. Quagmire always seemed so sure of himself.   
  
“We adopted him for charity,” Nathan explained. Oh. Chris hadn’t known that.   
  
“Does that mean I can’t go back to Quahog?” he asked.   
  
“I’m sorry, _how_ is that charity?” The manager was totally talking over him. It kind of hurt Chris’s feelings.   
  
“We’re his foster fathers. What do you mean? That’s for charity, right?” Nathan said. Chris was confused. How was adopting a kid _not_ for charity? You had to give a kid all kinds of stuff – diapers, cribs, rattles…oh, right, he was fourteen. Just the diapers, then. Boy, he sure thought about poo a lot.   
  
“No, Nathan.” The manager’s voice was really heavy with patience, but with a lot of sarcasm underneath. Chris’s mom talked to Meg like that sometimes, so he knew exactly how it sounded, and decided right away that he didn’t like this guy.   
  
“Seriously?” Nathan said, sounding disappointed.   
  
“Yeah,” the manager replied. “Can you give him back?”   
  
“Hey!” Chris said indignantly, showing his teeth like Brian did.   
  
“Hey, man, that’s a crappy thing to say!” Chris was pretty happy with that – at least until Nathan added, “And no, I don’t think we can. We tried.”   
  
“You did _not_ try,” Chris countered, crossing his arms and trying to stare Nathan down. It kind of didn’t work. “You just gave me a mega-wedgie and dropped my boxers on Mr. Swanson’s lawn!”   
  
The ugly guy with the weird triangle hair snickered. “Sho that’sch who that wasch?” he asked. “The man with no legsch?”   
  
“He does _too_ have legs. They just…well, they don’t work, so I guess you’re kind of right.” This band had some _smart_ guys in it. Maybe if he was really, really good, they’d take him back to Quahog and he could tell everyone about how cool they were.   
  
…wait.   
  
They were kind of huge already. Never mind, then.   
  
They were also _really, really_ good. Chris found that out later when they dragged him to band practice and gave him some old electronic junk to chew on (except the blond guy, Skwisgaar, didn’t like it when he tried to chew on some sound effects, and they tasted nasty anyway). “Controls your son,” he demanded.   
  
“Why’sch he _my_ schon?” the ugly guy said. His name was Murderface, which Chris thought was hilarious; for the zillionth time in about an hour, he giggled, then dropped the sound effects in favor of a really delicious cymbal. Band class had never looked so appealing. “He’sch _your_ schon, too!”   
  
Hearing him say that he was their _son_ gave Chris a warm, fuzzy feeling – except not in his ding-dong, this time. It was in his stomach. He hoped he wasn’t going to throw up.   
  
“Dat’s impossibles,” Skwisgaar retorted. “He gots no regamblance to me.”   
  
“I do _so_ ,” Chris protested. Didn’t they both have the same color hair? Maybe he could say he was Skwisgaar’s son, if anyone asked.   
  
Except…well, Skwisgaar probably wouldn’t have a fat son. And Chris kind of missed Quahog.   
  
“He’sh not schupposed to, douchebag. He’sh adopted.” Oh, right. Chris nodded, remembering. Murderface was really smart to point out stuff like that.   
  
“I thoughts we agreed, never tells him he’s adopsted!”   
  
As Toki suggested that maybe Chris needed to go to the b-a-s-t-h-r-o-h-m-n-s-e (which he kind of did, actually), Murderface just made a “ffff” noise under his breath and stalked over to where Chris was sitting. Chris, for his part, didn’t turn around; the cymbal was really tasty. “Hey, Fatty Ding-Dong, you wanna take it easy? Your daddiesch are rehearshing for a scharity event. Do _you_ know what a scharity event is?”   
  
“I sure do!” Chris exclaimed. His dad tried to do some of those sometimes, like the time he helped Horace the bar dude with his karaoke machine. “Don’t stop believin’!” he sang, throwing his arms out in imitation of Mr. Brown – and accidentally knocking Murderface over about ten feet. Oops.  
  
“Get that fat little schon of a bitsch!” Murderface screamed.   
  
Uh-oh.   
  
“I need an adult! I need an adult!” Chris dropped the cymbal and ran, only to crash into the drum set and have Nathan pick him up. It _seriously_ hurt when he started squeezing him, too…it really made him feel like he had to…  
  
Well, as Stewie said, uh-oh, spadoodios.   
  
“Oh, dear sweet lord,” Nathan said. “I think he just used the restroom in his shorts.”   
  
“Well, duh,” Chris began, only to cut himself off with a squeal of pain when Nathan dropped him. “Ow, dude! What the hell?”   
  
“No, Fatty, no going to the bathroom inside! Only _outside!_ ” Pickles scolded. Chris hung his head and pouted; he guessed even smart people needed to learn to doody in the grass. His mom had failed to toilet-train Brian, and Brian was one of the smartest guys he knew.   
  
“There’s gotta be a better way to calm him down,” Nathan rumbled in irritation.   
  
Chris definitely agreed with that – at least until he found out _exactly_ what their idea of a better method entailed.   
  
“Well, I’m sure neutering me would contribute to the general sense of peace and…WHAAAAAAAT?”   
  
These guys were freaking _crazy_ , and their power scared him…at least until they left, and he learned that the doctor wasn’t _actually_ going to neuter him. “I prefer to let fourteen-year-olds keep their balls,” he said, gave Chris a lollipop, and kept him in there for about an hour before letting him out.   
  
Luckily, it fooled Dethklok. “Hey, goofball! Look who’s all neutered!” Nathan exclaimed as soon as Chris walked into the doctor’s waiting room. “You are! Yeah, you’re neutered, huh, goofball? Who’s a neutered guy?”   
  
“Oh, _boy!_ I’m a neutered guy! Oh…wait. Yeah, I’m not a neutered guy,” Chris said, before realizing that saying he _wasn’t_ neutered might not be the best idea. Neither was running away, as it turned out. That Taser _hurt_.   
  
So did being left out in the cold for a couple of weeks. It made him feel like Mr. Swanson, only without the poop sack. The food they gave him was good, though, and the way he was fed was pretty funny. “Here’s a bucket of hankboirgers and some Big Gulps and crap, you fat tits!” Toki called out one day, come feeding time.   
  
“Thanks a lot!” Chris exclaimed, and smiled at him. Then his leash choked him, and he strangled for a while, but he got better.   
  
“Tries not to choke, you fat tub of shit. We loves you,” Skwisgaar told him as they left.   
  
All things considered, after being left outside on a leash like Todd before he died, it _really_ wasn’t his fault that he mistook the _cutting_ laser thingy for a _regular_ laser thingy when he went to the stupid charity event. The guys were pretty mad.   
  
“We know it’s _totally_ your fault that the London Philharmonic was sliced in half by a laser beam,” Nathan told him, staring him down in a _seriously_ scary way. “And we know that you’re sorry. We know that.”   
  
“I’m sorry,” Chris repeated for the zillionth time, staring down at his shoes. He never got anything right – even his dad had never sliced an entire orchestra in half.   
  
“Hmm,” Nathan grunted. “We just…hoped you’d use better judgment, you know?”   
  
That was the _last fucking straw._   
  
“Better judgment?” Chris shouted, standing up and glaring at all of them. “Like you guys use good judgment yourselves! And another thing – you’re _not_ my dads. My real dad is in Quahog, Rhode Island, and my real room is there, and the evil monkey in my closet is there, and I want to go back!”   
  
“I wants de evil monkey!” Toki piped up. Skwisgaar slapped him.   
  
“Guys, I…I think I know what you’re trying to say,” Nathan said. “We…need to build a space helicopter.”   
  
That was actually kind of a good idea.   
  
They dropped him off in Quahog the next day, using a newly-built space helicopter. Actually, to be more specific, they _literally_ dropped him. “Ow,” Chris groaned as he landed face-first on the lawn. “Bye, guys!” he called out, waving up at the helicopter. “You suck! E-mail me!”   
  
He hoped they would; maybe they weren’t _actually_ smart, but they were way more fun than boring old Quahog.  
  
…wait. Why had he come back in the first place?   
  
Needless to say, he wasn’t in the best of moods when he walked through the front door. “I’m home, douchebags!” he called out; Lois and Peter, who were sitting on the couch, glanced up at him. Stewie, who had his European See-n-Say out on the floor, didn’t even bother.   
  
“Hi, sweetie,” Lois said. “Did you have a fun time with the crazy people?”   
  
“I sure did! They say all kinds of weird stuff, and I got to use a fun laser beam!”   
  
“ _Awww,_ ” Peter and Stewie said at the same time, looking disappointed.   
  
“But look on the bright side,” Peter added, visibly brightening. “When they took you away, they gave me a wayward kitty! C’mere, Sticky Head the Second!”   
  
Dethklok sent Chris a Get Fucking Better Soon, You Dildo card while he was recovering from his severe cat attack. On the whole, he thought it was pretty riffing nice of them.


End file.
